Amortentia: Love Potion 9
by lightofhislife
Summary: The usual suspects play a prank on Snape and a Slytherin girl; mild content.
1. Brewing

Her skin glowed around her translucent robes, eyes batting behind the her holographic glasses and she giggle benignly at the two figures who were tinged as red as their ties red from their uproarious laughter. Abruptly, Myrtle's giggling stopped. "You're mocking me," she hissed. The two Gryffindors didn't even stop laughing to deny it, so she squealed in displeasure and made a beeline dive into her toilet, making an awful sloshing noise.

Their breathing steadied over the thinned gray fluid that was boiling angrily at their neglect. Fred covered his mouth with his left hand, breathing deeply into it, trying to steady his discontinuous breathing. His brunette counterpart was still doubled over in laughter, though now she was silently shaking. Fred carefully opened the thick metal container and extracted three Ashwinder eggs with gloved hands. Concentrating on the text before him with more grit than ever, he squinted to drop in the eggs at exactly the right moment, stirring vigorously. The potion made a smooth transition from thin, lumpy, and gray to watery and a shimmering periwinkle color.

Miranda gazed up from her seat the floor through mahogany eyes, glazed over in a reflected blue of the brewing potion. A smile broke across her face again, laughing threatening to take her over again. "Awesome," her teeth mirroring the potion as well. Fred opened the next compartment of the potions box, pouring in a small vial of a red liquid, reminding her of the Kool-Aid she'd had during the summer. Her mother, a pureblood, never really acquired much of a taste for it, preferring Butter beer. This time, the fluid thinned more and turned a color that was nearly transparent but for a mild opalescent look to it, diluting into a sufficient amount to slip into someone's drink for several days.

Fred pushed a small clip into Miranda's hand, tapping the one he had at the base of his nose. She slipped it over her nose, recalling something Snape'd mentioned in class one day. If it was done right, it would take on a smell that is enticing in a way that would draw one to drink it.

They wouldn't want to risk the temptation when the potion had a purpose to serve.

The final ingredient was a shredded Fwooper feather, dropping the Weasley-orange fluff into the cauldron. The potion sizzled, dissolving the material like acid.

Finally, the potion gained its proper pale opal color.

And then the laughed started again.


	2. Good as Dead

The following morning, Miranda moved down to breakfast, slightly dazed from sleep, but also exhilarated by the idea of what was going to happen. By the time she reached the entrance of the Great Hall she swerved like a driver she'd seen in Massachussetts around slow students to get to the Gryffindor table to sit by Fred. She smiled, leaning in to whisper, "Did it work?"

He ducked his face, almost low enough for his hair to touch the bagel on his plate, to disguise his smile. "If you mean 'is it in her goblet?", then yes." Miranda's eyes went wide, her throat tightening around the fresh round of hysteria that she was suppressing. She watched Pansy Parkinson strut slightly before she sat down near Draco. Fred was trying to look inconspicuous, failing as his eyes repeatedly fell on the empty place near Draco. She sat there every day. She had to come soon. George made eye contact with his twin, both making gestures in indications of what was happening. He tipped his head forward, ducking it in a way to get a sideways glance at the table. At that moment, stumbling just before sitting down almost abysmally, the object of their revenge took her place, dark hair contrasting wildly to the icy silk adjacent to her.

Miranda gleefully looked away at the staff table, smiling brightly just as Dumbledore's gaze caught hers. He nodded and returned a smile not intended for anyone's eyes. Her eyes ran along the length of the table, smile shrinking as she thought of the upcoming Transfiguration exam upon seeing McGonagall, and then remembering that she had to go to the dormitories for her Charms essay before noon. Finally, as if there was a hole in the universe marking his absence, she saw the Potions Master wasn't at the table. Pity, but Sarah and she had double Potions first thing after breakfast. She was still smiling widely enough that Hermione gave her a bewildered look as she sat across from Harry.

Sarah took a slice from the toast rack, spreading some grape jelly on her toast, beginning to eat. At this point, she had three pairs of eyes following her hands intently. She hadn't noticed yet, taking a sip from her silver goblet. Her tense expression that gave away her lack of sleep relaxed immediately, eyes almost appearing to lighten in color from as dark her robes to a copper ring lined with green roots. She sighed through her nose softly, ignoring her toast and adopting a dreamy smile that resembled that of Luna Lovegood. She place her chin on her hands, staring into space.

Miranda was laughing as though someone had used a Silencing Charm on her. George high fived Fred, laughing quietly and ignoring Ron's inquiries. Miranda calmed herself enough to finish her waffle and sling her bag over her shoulder, departing for the dungeons after an over-zealous Sarah. Following her through the crowd of students, Miranda had less difficulty as they approached the dungeon.

The two girls arrived before anyone else, sitting together at the table they were assigned to share. _Even better_, Miranda chortled in her mind.

Within five minutes, the room was full, the only person missing being Austin, a friend of Sarah's, who was in the hospital wing for an unfortunate even involving Quidditch and a blast-ended Skrewt. Snape stormed in, leaning against his desk and making an enigmatic expression. "Today, we will be maki—" Sarah's hand shot into the air. He exhibited unusual tolerance for one of his own house. "Yes, Miss Baxter?" he drawled.

"Hi, professor," she giggled.

He ignored her. "_As I was saying_," he began before her hand popped into the air. "We will be making—" Sarah bounced up and down in her seat. He sighed, rolling his eyes slightly. "_Yes_, Miss Baxter?"

"Are we making Love Potion #9?"

"No," he said, mocking patience. "Today, we're making an elixir to induce euphoria. If you open your books to page—" he scowled at Sarah's impatient hand. "Yes, Miss Baxter?" he firmly raised his voice.

"Ooh, no need to get huffy, sir, though you are sexy when you make that face," she began, not letting him interject. "Anyway, when will we make Love Potion #9?"

"We _won't_," he raised his eyebrows in a way indicating that it was time to stop. Miranda was digging her nails into her knees, thinking about the exam she'd forgotten to study for to remain composed. On the inside, she was laughing hysterically. It could really only get better from here. "As I was saying. Page 236," he enunciated, despite Sarah's raised hand. "Get. To. Work. Now."

He skulked back to his desk, burying his nose deeply into the Daily Prophet.

Miranda collected peppermint sprigs from the box of ingredients that sat at the table in front of Snape's desk. She added it to the area by her cauldron, humming quietly to let out some of her excitement. Sarah was reading the instructions in her book, less than carefully, to feign a complete lack of understanding. She stood, smoothing her skirt and simultaneously wiping sweat from the creases in her palms. She moved to Snape's desk with a bit of a swagger, leaning against his desk and looking down her nose at him. "Sir, could you help me?" she cocked an eyebrow.

Snape pursed his lips, following Sarah rigidly to her desk. He tilted her pewter cauldron to see inside of it, giving Sarah a fiercely annoyed expression. She'd already done the first couple of steps, producing a thick substance resembling mud. "Well," he began. "Now you add the peppermint and stir."

"I think my stirring technique is a bit off," she explained unconvincingly, staring at the stirring stick like she was suspicious that it was conspiring against her.

"I'm certain it's fine," Snape grumbled. Miranda tried so hard not to laugh that it embodied itself in an awkward snort, then a sputtering half-laugh, half-cough.

"Really, sir," she taking the stirring rod in one hand, trying to look a bit puzzled. She was clearly hoping he would cover her hands with his, though he pried the stirring rod from her fist.

"Watch," he growled, demonstrating. He began stirring rapidly like a baker using a whisk; Sarah amorously regarded his face, not watching his hands. She slowly scooted her stool toward, finally close enough to sniff at his robes discreetly before standing. She moved her face closer to his. His mouth was set in a hard line. He was trying to ignore her with all of the restraint he had. Even as an accomplished Occlumens, it was nearly impossible. Sarah, intensely beaming at him, began stroking his hair with two fingers. "WHAT IN THE NAME OF MERLIN ARE YOU DOING?" he demanded.

"You have pretty hair," she clarified, smiling innocently.

"Five points from Slytherin," his hissing voice had a strange edge. Sarah face fell into a frown. She dropped the remainer of the daisy roots into her cauldron after a pinch of powdered Bicorn horn. Within moments, her face broke back into a smile. The sludge thinned into a slushy orange, her face reflecting the golden flecks as if she had a mild case of the Xenore pox.

She moved stealthily, tapping Snape on his shoulder. He turned around lividly, eyes glowing more brightly than the potion. "Yes, Miss Baxter."

She grabbed his hand, pulling him to the table. Snape jerked his hand from her grasp and folded his arms in the same motion. "Is this normal?" she peered over the brim of her cauldron, staring in a flirty way that resembled the demeanor of Moaning Myrtle around Harry.

"Yes," he turned on his heel and returned to the book shelf.

Sarah stirring in the next few ingredients, her potion turning the same color as Draco's hair. The first person in the class to finish successfully, she snapped her book shut and stared at the name Libatius Borage on the cover. She raised her hand wildly, flapping it to catch his attention.

"Sir, is this the right shade of yellow?" Miranda asked before Sarah got the question out. Snape, despite her being a Gryffindor, seemed relieved to stalk over to her half of the table, avoiding Sarah as if she were a hungry predator.

He muttered the usual criticisms, being even more irritable. Sarah leaned athwart the desk, watching Snape. "Professor?" he looked at her in acknowledgement. "Do you towel dry your hair?"


	3. Delight

Miranda scooped her books into her arms, running up the flight of stairs and out to the Quidditch field, laughing loudly enough to disrupt the ongoing practice as she ran up to the stands to watch. Her euphoric feeling magnified across the stadium, leaving her unable to hear the cracking noises the bludgers made over Sarah's voice, synced with her laughter. _Do you towel dry your hair?_

Fred dismounted his broom within the next hour, climbing the stands to Miranda's perch. "I see it went as planned," Fred said, hardly needing to make an observation to know.

"Well… she started petting him," Miranda said incredulously.

"She pet the greaseball?"

Miranda nodded. "And she asked how he dries his hair… oh—and then she was playing dumb to get him to help her and kept asking him how she was doing. And," she paused, smiling in an amused fashion, "She even grabbed his hand to pull him over to the table!"

"Brilliant," Fred's eyes opened wider than his cachinnating mouth. He laughed himself into exhaustion, kissing her on the cheek before they set off the to Gryffindor common room. "Brilliant," he repeated.


	4. Trailing Snape

"NO!" Snape was frustrated by his multicolored shadow.

"But why not?!" Sarah sighed, whining undertones to her voice.

"Because," he hissed to her. "Go to the common room."

"Will you come?" she asked hopefully.

"NO!" he roared.

"…why?" she asked quietly.

He pounded his fist on the desk. "Do I need to give you a detention?"

"Can I really have one?" she smiled as if she'd won the Quidditch Cup.

"No."

Sarah pouted. "Please?"

"NO!!"


	5. Excellent

"Have you noticed how enticing his eyes are? Like… onyx and opals. So pretty," Sarah was staring in a daze at the teachers' table.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

Sarah sighed at Draco. "They're dark as his robes. Don't they just look inviting?" Draco stared into his plate, hoping the question was rhetorical. "Don't they?"

"Oh, um, yeah," he said, his voice was as high as his eyebrows.

"I actually touched his hair today," she nodded as if she'd proven the existance of Nargles. "It was as soft as it looks. Doesn't it look soft?" this time, she didn't wait for an answer, glacing down at her plate. "Do you think he like mashed potatoes? I love them. They remind me a bit of his hair, all fluffy…" she tilted her head to the side. "Do you think he wears cologne? I smelled him today, you know. He smelled a little musky and just a tiny bit like mothballs, though not really. Then again, I think he could make mothballs smell appetizing. Do you think he ever gets irregular?"

Draco had to learn to tune out this incessant yammering.

"Then again, he strikes me as a bran kind of guy. I wonder what he eats for breakfast…" Sarah trailed off, pondering. "I bet he has green and black bedsheets. Do you think he wears pajamas? Or does he sleep in his underwear? Hmm… do you think he wears boxers? Or briefs? Maybe he goes commando... I kind of sense briefs—ooh! Do you think he drinks tea? I don't think he'd add crea—HI PROFESSOR!" she waved, standing for just a moment before returning to her potatoes. "Do you think he likes Quidditch? Draco? Do you think so?"

He shrugged. "Which team do you think he likes?"

_Merlin save me from this nattering,_ Draco thought.

From the opposite table in the Great Hall, Miranda listened to Fred and George discussing ways they could improve on Zonko's design of the Fanged Frisbees. She continued glancing at the Slytherin table. "--could add incorrigibility factors… you know, so Filch couldn't even bear touching them, they'd bite so hard."

"Yeah, I remember Flitwick taught us earlier this year… it was a charm to protect objects from--"

"Look!" Miranda interrupted George.

"Wh--" Fred looked upward, not needing to continue, immediately starting to snicker. Sarah stood, smoothing her hair slightly, and flounced quickly toward the teachers' table at the head of the hall. She stood, directly in front of a hostile Snape, smiling.

"I presume your meal was scrumptiously gratifying--" she rocked onto her toes and then back to her heels. "Professor," she smirked flamboyantly in a way that reminded Snape of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Go," he snarled, "sit down."

"Well, sir, I was just hoping you were having a pleasant evening…"

Moody pulled his silver flask from his coat, tipping his face back into the air to take a swig, electrified eye bobbing in its makeshift socket. "Sit, Baxter," he bellowed at her.

"Sir," she addressed Snape as though her question was of critical importance, "what did you eat tonight? The mashed potatoes?" McGonagall was striding toward her, heels clinking in a way echoing the severity of Sarah's question.

"What is this rumpus?"

"Baxter was askin' Snape if he like the potatoes," Moody answered for him, one eye on McGonagall, the other intensely fixed on Sarah. It generally bored into Sarah, making her feel tingling radiate from her vital organs to her spine, making her shake with chills. Instead, her eyes stayed on Snape. McGonagall gestured at the table of green students, giving her a warning glance before taking her seat. Sarah stayed in her place, smiling down on Snape.

He stood, violently pushing his chair back and smirking for just a moment before adopting McGonagall's expression and wrapping his arm around her should to turn her back to the table and steering her to her seat. He pushing her at the chair, but now her arm was around him, clinging in a way that caused the whole room to turn in her direction. Her smile looked as though she's taken the elixir she'd made earlier that day. Snape pried her off with icy hands, blustering from the Great Hall. He wore an expression of disgruntlement, fingers twitching and curling around his thumbs in anger. They relaxed to the point of going limp, dead and clammy like those of an Inferius, and then reclenching.

"Oh my god," Miranda giggled under her breath to Fred. "She was staring at his butt."


	6. Truth

Sighing, Snape opened the door to his bedchambers, feeling glad to be rid of the obnoxious toe rag. Whipping his cloak off, he dropped it one his bed, drawing a glass from the cabinet, beginning to prepare some fire whiskey. He dropped into a comfortable chair, removing his shoes before sipping deeply from his goblet. His eyes closed. The strange sensation on his tongue caused him to focus on other things. Today's girls could be terribly ridiculous. She was so enamored that she was making a fool of herself. Even Snape knew that thought was a ridiculous one, though he chose to make a moment to bask in the feeling of flattery that resulted. Then again, something didn't feel right. His eyes snapped open. In that instant, Snape lost his composure upon seeing a face that did not belong to Peeves.

Sitting on the floor, with burnt caramel eyes, was Sarah.

"Hi, love," she greeted him, lifting his cloak to straighten it out. She folded it into an uneven square and put it on her lap, sitting down on his bed near the pillow. "I see you do have green bed sheets. They're very soft," she ran her hand across the thicker blanket on top. "So, can I have some of that?" she nodded at the whiskey.

Finally, he found his voice, trying to refrain from throttling her. "Why are you in my private quarters?" he drawled, voice uneven.

"Well, because… I know you wouldn't come to the dormitories. The other girls'd be jealous," she said sincerely.

Seething, he stood. "Get out."

Sarah sighed, making a flourishing movement upon standing, over exaggerating her intentions to walk out the door. Then she stopped, moving toward him.

"What. Are. You. Do--"Sarah stopped his slow motion question by wrapping her arms around his neck and stopping his words with a kiss. He seemed to forget what was going on for a split second, but then, returning to his senses, he threw her arms away from him and held her by her shoulders an arms length away. He stepped forward, his firm grasp too tight to fight, pushing her toward the a chair. "Stay there," he commanded. He began bustling around, walking out the door to his storeroom, being followed by girl who now resembled a lovesick Sheltie puppy who'd been abandoned. He shuffled through vials, his lips moving as if they were a blinking set of third eyelids. Without blinking, he lifted and set muliple colored of fluid and various animal parts. Grabbing one with amber fluid glistening inside, he pulled her back behind the door in his chambers, enough that the Fat Friar couldn't see as he passed.

Curling his fingers tightly around her chin, Snape ignored her contorted smile and put down the potion to wrestle her mouth open. He poured in the fluid, releasing her face before the stars in her eyes burned out completely. She blinked, cheeks burning like his fire whiskey, and ran from the room, realizing what had happened through clear eyes.


End file.
